A Bittersweet Time

By Neal Lemery

(published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 12/24/2025)

When I was a kid, Christmas was always a bittersweet time. Lots of emotions were at play, even though the family worked together to make it a joyous and happy time with lots of festiveness and fun. It had all the attributes of a good time for a kid: a Christmas tree, happy music, great food, presents, and family members singing uplifting music. There was mystery and magic, good surprises, Midnight Mass, and hugs all around.

It was also the only time of the year I would see my grandma cry, weeping and then sobbing, and running off to her room for a half hour to compose herself, right when she was making the mulled sauce for the traditional Christmas Eve ham. No one would talk about why she would burst into tears, until I, being the impertinent child, asked her one year. My question got a scathing look from my mother, but I persisted.

I learned that Grandma’s mom had died on Christmas Eve, many years ago, and what was supposed to be a happy day was marked by deep sadness, and grief. Our family didn’t talk much about grief and loss anyway, so it didn’t surprise me that the anniversary was tough on all of the family, especially my grandmother. She was the queen at burying her emotions and not sharing difficult times. She didn’t share her emotions with anyone, especially the hard and deeply personal emotions of losing one’s parent when they were a kid.

Once I learned about the anniversary, I went out of my way to be kind to Grandma at Christmas, and gave her some hugs, and shared funny stories. I was able to get Grandma to talk about her mom, and tell some sweet and loving stories of her, and how she loved her family. After our talk, and sharing her feelings with the rest of the family, she warmed up, and became more open about being emotional and kind. Christmas wasn’t a mine field anymore, and we were all better at talking about our feelings.

This Christmas is a lot like that Christmas. It is a time of raw and tender emotions, a time of having a deep sense of loss and grief, and not knowing how to deal with a lot of complicated and conflicting emotions. The air feels heavy, and I’m not navigating through the season with a sense of joy or enjoyment. It seems that many of us are grieving and struggling in a tough year, where our lives are unsettled, and we are adrift, unsatisfied, and hurting.

A lot of that is our political experiences, but other aspects of our cultural and social life also seem out of whack, disoriented, and blurry. Watching the news or attending a concert of what should be our favorite and happy music seems to leave me unsettled, unsatisfied, and yes, disturbed, often angry and adrift. There’s a big chunk of a sense of order and goodness that is missing or just out of place. And, I don’t have good words to describe that. Like my grandmother grieving for her mother’s death anniversary at Christmas, I don’t have the words, and I resist talking about it. Part of me wants to hide, and live in denial.

This fall, I watched Ken Burns’ engaging documentary on the American Revolution, which gave me new insight into the American psyche and a renewed sense of history and the deep roots of the American spirit. There was a discussion of Thomas Paine’s influential pamphlet, Common Sense, and its opening sentence: “These are the times that try men’s souls.”

We are living in a similar time, where we are grieving the loss of some of our culture, values, and sense of morality. We often feel adrift, unsure of where the country is headed, of what our own place is in what is coming. It seems to be a good time for being reflective and purposeful. I often feel lost and aimless, and not really being able to give words to what I’m feeling.

Joan Baez recently spoke on finding and rediscovering one’s own sense of purpose and moral center. She was receiving a big award for her creativity, and spoke candidly and intensely to the Hollywood elite at the awards event.

‘If your voice can move millions and you choose not to use it for those who have no voice, then you are not creating change – you are creating noise.”

“If you have more than you need, it no longer belongs only to you. Your responsibility is to lift up those who are still beneath you.

“Legacy is not built on what you earn. It is built on what you give.”

I’m feeling I’ve misplaced my mojo, my sense of purpose, but Baez’ words are a wake-up call. We Americans have a rich heritage, and we have the tools to strengthen and rebuild our culture, and rediscover our sense of purpose and mission. I now see a lot of that renewal, that renaissance, and it gives me joy and hope.

Like my grandmother, we can give ourselves permission to grieve our losses, deal with our shared pain, and move forward, to give love to our families and our communities, and to make a real difference.

12/24/2025

Graduation Inspiration

By Neal Lemery

(Published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 5/26/2025)

I made a serious run on the graduation card rack at the store this morning. Four great nephews and nieces are graduating in the next few weeks. I needed to fulfill my duties as a great uncle, to acknowledge their achievements, give them a round of applause, and note their collective plans to go on to college.

Inspiring cards were selected, along with some gift cards. Giving money for college expenses is part of the family tradition, too. Inspiring, heartfelt messages need to be composed, to go along with the cards and money. The older generations need to speak out, and proclaim their praise and kudos to yet another generation of college-bound kids.

Each of them has already started on their college career, with dual credit classes as high school seniors, visits to college campuses, and early applications for admission. This uncle sees them as bright, ambitious, and starting to live their dreams of being responsible, resourceful adults.

These accomplishments continue a community and a family tradition, of getting out in the world and finding a useful, satisfying career, and to give back.

This is a time to remember and celebrate the ancestors, too, with visits to cemeteries, and taking some time to ponder their lives this Memorial Day weekend. The ancestors were big advocates for education, traveling the Oregon Trail and later paths of emigration to the Northwest, eager to homestead farms, build schools and raise families who had brighter opportunities. They, too believed in getting an education.

Settlers to Oregon established numerous colleges and academies. Schoolhouses were one of the first community buildings erected in new settlements. Property taxes were assessed to fund schools. When Oregon was surveyed, and homestead sites were platted, one section (a square mile) of every township (36 square miles) was designated as a community asset for local schools. Today, Oregon has numerous private universities and a flourishing state university and community college system.

Funding and administrating our public school system remains a vigorous topic of our politics, and schools remain a core value of our culture.

A century ago, my grandmother had a dream: a college education for each child. She did some research, and then moved her family from a Canadian prairie wheat farm to the Willamette Valley, where there were a number of colleges. Two of my aunts and all three sons earned graduate degrees. Not a bad accomplishment in the 1920s and 1930s.

When I was six and she was 84, she gave me the same heartfelt, forceful message, insistent that I work hard to better myself and live a productive life.

Now, I am in the oldest generation, and can look ahead two generations to see family members who have worked hard and be set in their ways to advance themselves. Our family has been around here for nearly 180 years, and the path to self-improvement and building community is a well-worn, and expected, road. When I talk with young people about their future, I hear my grandparents and parents’ voices, urging “get an education”.

At the funeral of a family matriarch who was a strong advocate for education in my wife’s family, the minister asked the crowd who among them had pursued an education because of her urgings and counsel. Over one hundred people raised their hands. Her encouragement continues to motivate and inspire young people today. She left a powerful and long-lasting legacy.

This graduation season, my family’s graduates are also getting a book, The Man Who Planted Trees, by Jean Giono. It’s an allegory, a story of a shepherd and war veteran who transforms a community devastated by war, into a new forest, a place of hope and possibility. More than tree planting, the work lifts people up, spreading optimism and self-confidence. It is a lesson in restitution, giving back by helping nature recover, of bringing new life to a devastated community. The tree planter does his work without seeking fame or fortune, and quietly does his work behind the scenes, anonymous.

We can all be tree planters, making a difference from a simple act every day. If you look around, there are a lot of people among us who make a difference, quietly, and persistently, acting with love, kindness, and hope.

I see that same drive and passion for self-improvement in today’s immigrants, reminding me that the flames for self-advancement and hard work continue to fiercely blaze, changing lives and our community. That energy and drive is a welcome strength and vital asset.

The voices of our community advocates for education continue to be heard and listened to. And for that, I am grateful.

5/26/2025

A Few Lessons in Compassion and Caretaking

By Neal Lemery

(Published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 4/3/2025)

This week, life gave me some perspectives of my role in community building and healing. It was time for me to be in school, and to get reacquainted with taking a positive, proactive role, to quit my bellyaching and whining, and take some positive action.

A friend invited me to coffee, seeking some guidance and direction on their new role parenting a young relative. They thought I had some wisdom on the subject, but I suspect they were more in search of affirmation and encouragement, with me as a cheerleader and proverbial optimist. I can certainly play the role of cheerleader, and have the scars to prove I’ve played the role of a parent of teenagers.

Yet, I celebrate my role as parent, having just had a rich conversation with one of my sons this week. That unexpected phone call was filled with rich stories, laughter, and his comment that he had called “just to hear your voice”. Our talk about relationships, marriage, and our mutual desire to keep learning affirmed my thoughts that I’d done a decent job with him.

At coffee with my friend, I listened, commiserated, encouraged, and offered a few suggestions. My friend thought I was a genius, as they acted on my ideas and found success and affirmation. My theory is that they instinctively knew the answers and the ideas had ripened and were well received. They had done the hard work, and just needed to see they were headed in the right direction. It’s not too hard to give a gentle nudge when people are already doing the right thing.

It was a reflective week, as well. A friend had given a talk about their passion in cleaning cemetery headstones, and helping families find their heritage, while sharing some nearly forgotten local history. In that work, they celebrate the lives of those who have gone before us, and giving us all a sense of foundation and heritage.

I took that message to motivate me to visit my own family graves, and do some much needed maintenance and rehabilitation. As I stood there in the cemetery, gently brushing off old leaves and debris and applying a cleanser to wash off decades of gunk, I took a good look at the names, and the dates of birth and death. I ruminated over all the good times and hard times represented by the dashes between those dates, and the impact those ancestors had on me.

It was a time of contemplation, gratitude, and respect. I hadn’t taken the time lately to acknowledge their contributions to my life and the importance of the ancestors’ various roles in their raising of me. Like most of us, I get caught up in the daily busyness and worries, and ignore who I’ve become and why. A lot of that comes from those family members whose headstones I was cleaning. A few tears came, and also a flood of good memories and gratitude.

These days are abundant in harsh words and comments, with people taking the opportunity to be snide, hostile, and even indifferent to another person’s crisis. The daily news cycle overflows with crisis and uncertainty. I’m trying to limit my exposure to social media and its recent abundance of nastiness, and political discussions having a dominant theme of adversity and opposition. I want all that clamor to instead be a vehicle for addressing challenging community needs.

I left the cemetery, and that coffee shop after seeing my friend, with a new sense of gratitude and peace, knowing that in life, we do a lot of good things, and help a lot of people on their own walks in life. The daily news cycle may seem important to people now, but knowing that I’ve been both the giver and the recipient of good thoughts, support, and kindness is worthy of my celebration and thanks. That’s where I need to put my focus and my love.

4/2/2025

From Catastrophe to Opportunity

By Neal Lemery

(published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 3/11/2025)

Often, a disaster turns into a positive asset, and life improves, comes into focus, and good things emerge from the gray somber atmosphere of disaster.

Such change comes unexpectedly.

The Chinese character for catastrophe is the same character for opportunity.

There was a time in college that I had lost direction, adrift despite the abundance of good opportunities and challenges from my professors and fellow students. I was adapting well, mastering my subjects and, at least outwardly, achieving great strides in my abilities and my knowledge of my favorite subjects.

Yet, I was adrift, often wondering what I was doing there, and what direction I needed to take. There were a lot of possibilities, but I didn’t have a good sense of what was right for me. Everyone around me seemed content, hard at work, and feeling directed and motivated. Maybe I needed to take a term off, get a job, and get my act together, stop spinning my wheels.

During one Christmas break, one of my aunts suddenly died. We were all in shock, as she had been healthy, vigorous in her retirement, and embracing her passion for botany and nature conservation. Her heart attack on a hiking trail doing what she loved left all of us feeling lost, shook up.

She lived far away from me, but would visit several times a year, telling stories of her adventures and always bringing a special book for me. When I was little, she’d read to me, animating the story with her voice, her laughter, and her passion for kids. We’d have great conversations, she being a vocal advocate for education, reading, and bettering the community. “Being of service” was the theme of a lot of our conversations and letters.

Her sudden passing brought my “lost in college” questions to the forefront. I recalled her wise counsel, her urgings to me to make a difference, and do something in life. Reminiscing about her life and her messages to me brought my dilemma into sharp focus, giving me impetus to regroup, to rethink my intentions of why I was in college, and what I was doing with my life.

Mourning her death, and celebrating her life woke me up. I applied that grief into fuel to regroup, to have a serious talk with myself, and strive to make a difference in my life. There were some hard lessons on not realizing the value of a person in your life until they are gone. Having my aunt in my life made a big difference in my own life, and I resolved to continue her presence, her message in my life, and our relationship.

Her funeral was on the day I went back to college, to start winter term. The eulogies, and the story telling among family recharged me, and I began the new year and the new term with a revitalized focus, looking for possibilities and opportunities. I felt her spirit and vowed to remember her with my own zeal for making a difference.

Recently, a good friend passed away, and again I am shaken by this loss, this departing of a mentor, whose wisdom and talent were bright lights in my life. We’d met for lunch a year ago, telling stories, laughing, and, true to her form, mentoring me and calling me out to refocus and regroup. She’d plant seeds with me, giving me story ideas and action items, sometimes acting with such subtlety that I didn’t realize that her seeds were even in my garden. She was a master of “guerrilla gardening”.

She was a writer, capturing the joys and treasures in ordinary life, always aiming at celebrating the community she loved and cared for. She wrote about simple things, events and happenings, but always with an ear for the deeper message, the profound experiences of friendships and listening to our souls.

She was blunt, open, honest, and passionately cared about people. Her stories of daily life were much more than a casual observation. They were deep and profound, and the reader was often gently lured into her observations, not always expecting the strong message she had set out to convey. She got her point across, with love and humor, but also with a depth and intensity you didn’t notice until you came to the end of her writing.

There were many gifts in her writings and in our conversations. She was a literary craftsman, with a big heart. Kindness was her mantra.

My friend and my aunt would have been dear friends, soul mates, and I imagine they would find much to laugh about and comment on. My sorrow for missing my aunt is rekindled by my friend’s passing. I’m reminded that out of catastrophe comes opportunity.

In my grief, there is renewal, there is new hunger for opportunity, for change, growth, betterment. My aunt and my friend are still there for me, still offering their gifts, and their love, still teaching me, still changing the world.

3/11/2025

Making Things Better

By Neal Lemery

(published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 2/5/2025)

I’ve always heard that we are here to make things better. That is our ultimate purpose, and that we do that work with love, compassion, and focus. Whatever else we are doing in our life, at the end of the day, life should be better for others, for our community, and, sometimes, for ourselves.

We are here to serve others. Our own comfort, our own advancement, our own betterment is not as important as being of help to others. When I was growing up, that was a strong lesson in religion, in being in community, and in our own personal work in learning how to be productive in our lives. At the dinner table, I was always asked, “Did you make a difference today?”

That work was expected to be a primary focus in our family lives, our careers, and in becoming productive adults. We were expected to help others along the way, and help them on that road to serving the community, and in growing and advancing all of us as we moved into adulthood. I also frequently asked myself that question. That personal inquiry continues today.

Seth’s Blog, written by author and social commentator Seth Godin, took a deep dive into this subject a number of years ago, digging into the ideas of “better” and “making”:

“1. Better implies that what we have right now is imperfect. Better requires change, and change is scary. Better might be in the eye of the beholder. Better is an assertion, one that requires not just the confidence to say it, but the optimism to believe that it’s possible.

“2. Make implies that it’s up to us. Someone needs to make it better, and it might just be you. In fact, if you don’t enlist to produce better, you’re part of the status quo, which is a problem.

“I’ve seen that there are pockets of our culture where both of these ideas are difficult to embrace. That authority pushes us to fit in, not to seek improvement, and deniability encourages us to whine instead of doing something about it. Power enjoys passivity in others.

“Power doesn’t want you to get uppity, doesn’t enjoy your dissatisfaction, doesn’t want to be on the hook to continually upgrade all of its systems. And so power has sold a cultural norm of acceptance, deniability and ennui.”

I get complacent in life, finding myself stuck in my routine, accepting the status quo, going along with what most other people seem to think, and what they want in life. There’s that “oh, well” thinking, that I’ll just accept what’s happening and forget that I can be a strong and vocal instrument of change, that I can make a difference and change things up. Just me. Just one person. I don’t have to accept what I think “everyone else” is thinking.

There’s no shortage of opportunities now. Local volunteer opportunities and job possibilities offer much in doing things that truly make a difference in the lives of our neighbors and our community. That work also strengthens each of us, improving our skills, and connecting us deeper with our own abilities and talents, as well as responding to the needs of others. Just look around; the possibilities, as it is often said, are endless.

Life gives us the opportunity to be independent thinkers, to have our own ideas, to do our own research, our own analysis. And, to speak out. If we listen, we hear that call to be brave and forthright, to have our own opinions, and, at times, to disagree with others. And, to do the work that needs to be done. And, as John Lewis said, to “do good trouble”.

That kind of thinking can be radical, disquieting. But I can step out of the norm, out of complacency, and to be one of those folks who stirs the pot, who thinks differently, who takes action when it seems others fear to tread.

I don’t have to look too far for that kind of inspiration and guidance. Most of my ancestors took chances, braved new worlds, and embraced changing their lives and their circumstances. They were all immigrants, or the descendants of immigrants, who crossed oceans, traveled to new and challenging places, and reformed their lives. They embraced the idea of bettering their lives. And, in doing so, to take on some hardships and challenges, striving to realize the benefits of hard work and personal sacrifice.

As Seth writes, “I’ll reiterate my belief that we each have a chance to assert. To announce our vision, to propose a change, to do the hard work to make things better.

“It’s on us, right now. Make things better by making better things.”

—Seth’s Blog 4/17/19

2/4/2025

Finding Some “Me Time”

By Neal Lemery

(Published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 11/2/2024)

October seems to have moved in like the frenzied autumn storm of a few nights ago, foreshadowing the arrival of the season. The days and weeks this past month had flown by as the holidays crept up on the calendar. I keep wondering where the time goes these days. Brisk winds are bringing down the colorful leaves, with cooler temperatures compelling me to find my favorite fleece sweater and raincoat, and to renew my wintery ritual of a mug of mid-morning tea.

I’ve barely stashed away the deck furniture and filled up the greenhouse with tender plants when the cache of holiday ornaments catches my eye, reminding me I need to at least think about holiday decorating. Time to get serious about the holiday gift list and plan for all the holiday festivities. I’m still working on the last of the summer’s tomatoes and zucchinis, and have just planted my cover crops for the raised beds. The first frost last week was a rude awakening, a call to action.

Fall is a transition, on many levels, and I’m changing into my seasonal routines of being inside more, watching the lawn green up from the welcome fall rains, and adjusting to the shortening hours of daylight.

What’s been missing in all of this change and transition has been some quiet time, some “me time”.

A few days ago, a big item on my “to do” list was to drive to the airport to pick up a family member. I needed to leave early, when it was still dark out, and was able to enjoy the glories of the beginning of the morning light over the mountains, and the emerging colors of the leaves up the river. It was quiet, without any distractions on the drive, except the interplay of the mist and fog rising against the hills, and the brightening of the full spectrum of fall colors on the trees. A few fishermen were out, reminding me I’ve been remiss in satisfying my needs for streambank solitude and meditating on the sounds of free-flowing rivers, the song of the rain, and the kerplunk of a well cast bait and bobber.

Soon enough, I’d be in the midst of Portland traffic, but for nearly an hour, I had the world to myself, just me and my thoughts and the beauty of this place I am blessed to call home.

My brain mulled over what I had thought were the problems and issues of the week, and I began to realize that what I was worried about, what I had been fretting and stewing about, was really darned inconsequential or simply had a pragmatic and quick solution. It was time to work on being a human being rather than a human doing. My “to do” list really could wait. The day was mine to simply enjoy and to just “be”.

I stopped along the side of the road to visit one of my favorite waterfalls, renewed from the last week of rain. The air was cool, misty, and smelled of damp earth and wet leaves. And there’s nothing like the sounds of falling water in the hills to bring me back to the serenity of nature and the wildness of the forest.

The tension in my shoulders and neck eased, relaxing what tensions I didn’t realize was there, and I felt truly at peace, a feeling that was needed in the hectic pace of the last few months. I took a few deep breaths, clearing out the mental cobwebs, becoming a part of our world, living in the moment, moving into deep peace.

I’d gotten back into the range of a radio station and started to listen to the morning news. The old tensions came back, and I realized I’d rather spend the rest of my trip simply being peaceful, unbothered by the latest news and political rhetoric. It’s not like I needed more information for the upcoming election. The months of increasingly harsh and divisive rhetoric had more than informed my decisions as a voter, and, after all, I had already voted. Indeed, I could be done with all of that. I could take charge and just let go.

“Click” and the radio was silent again, and I rolled down the window for some more forest air and the smell of damp leaves. My world was fresh and clean again, and the strident voices on the radio were quiet. I could think again, able to simply be, to be present in the moment, my brain cleared from harsh words and the manufactured frenzy of political events and commentary. I could focus on the brilliant colors of autumn leaves, and the early morning sunlight on the river. I could choose to have my mind be simply manipulated by the beauty of the morning.

My favorite group of herons were hunting in the upcoming swamp, and I slowed to notice their grace and serenity in the morning light. Soon, I’d be in traffic, finding my way on freeways, gearing up for the congestion of the airport. But, now, I had my peace, and I wasn’t going to let it go. I breathed in, again, bringing that self-contained serenity deep inside of me, holding it close to my heart, and remembering to just be in the moment.

11/1/2024

Cleaning Out the Gunk

By Neal Lemery

(published 7/21/2024 in the Tillamook County Pioneer)

The little things in life often teach me the big lessons.

Yesterday’s weed eating project came to a halt as my usually trusty string trimmer decided to take a break. It was time to refresh the thick nylon cord, and I thought a fresh battery was needed. Still, it was a no go. My weed eater had gone on strike.

My project of thick grass and weeds in a long-neglected border was half done, and I wanted to be able to check it off the list before tonight’s long anticipated thunderstorm and, hopefully, rain.

My weed eater had other ideas, getting me to sit down in my comfy chair under the pergola, sip some lemonade, and do some mechanical problem solving. I delved into its mysterious interior workings, finding a half handful of long, wiry grass and the nefarious bindweed (so aptly named). It was the proverbial tangled mess, a metaphor of this busy, intense year.

I kept going deeper, into the very heart of the beast, and finding tightly wrapped coils of grass and stems, wound tight enough that my pocket knife had to enter the fray. Five, ten, then fifteen minutes of cutting and pulling and unwinding, and the inner shafts and gears were finally free. The green and brown gunk and braidings piled up on my lap, as I kept unraveling and cutting. How can such a small device contain so much trash?

At last, all the detritus was gone, and the machine was free. I carefully reassembled everything, even adding fresh tough nylon string. Putting a fresh battery in, I hit the switch, and the machine purred back to life, ready for a new go-around with my weed patch. Being less than mechanical, I experienced elation and self-satisfaction at my accomplishment. It actually worked, and I fixed it, I announced to the yard, its indifference echoing back to me in the silence. Oh, well. I still celebrated my own small accomplishment. I take my victories where I find them.

Getting the gunk out seems to be a great remedy when things aren’t going the way you want. Sometimes, you just need to sit down with a few tools and some time, take things apart, and do some necessary cleaning and re-organizing. Patience is part of that, something I need to practice and give space to as I go about my day.

This work often requires the right tool. My pocketknife was what I needed to fix the weed eater. Later on, a broken hose refused to come uncoupled with another hose, until I found my pipe wrench, applied some needed elbow grease, and twisted it all just right so that the broken hose was finally separated, and headed to the garbage. “Right tool, right job” is a good motto to keep in mind when dealing with things that don’t want to move, that get stuck on so tight that nothing will get fixed. Now, I’m wondering what other tools I can use to fix things on my “to do” list, solving not only the mechanical issues, but the human and social frustrations that need to be fixed.

I should add de-gunking to my daily to-do list. There’s last week’s coffee spill in the pickup, the chaos on the coffee table, the clutter of the glove box. Then, there’s the tool box in the shop. The list can get fairly long of things needing organized. There’s lots of things in life that are twisted, too tightly wound, and messy enough to grind things to a halt. Some time and patience, cleaning up, and decluttering breathe new life into ordinary things, making life simpler, and working again.

I should try this approach to my relationship with others, untwisting and cleaning up how I work with others, cutting away the knots and stuck debris, so that things work smoothly, wheels turn, and the work gets accomplished with a lot less frustration and difficulty. I need to take the time, and be willing to take things apart, do some unraveling, use the right tool, and put life in order.

7/21/24

Holding Space

published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 12/19/23

By Neal Lemery

A number of years ago, a counselor friend introduced me to the idea of “holding space”, being simply present for someone in crisis, someone needing a human presence in their life.

And not necessarily a friend who could offer advice or counsel, or direct them to some professional help. But, simply being there.

I’m a verbal person, willing to talk about most anything, and sometimes too free to offer advice, even when it is not sought. Holding space is an idea that is more about just showing up, being around, willing to offer the proverbial ear to someone having a really bad day. Zipping my lip is not my first response, but often holding space is what is needed and what is sought.

Yesterday, the phone rang. An old friend, a guy I’d mentored and worked with when he was in prison, was on the line. He was in tears, needing to talk. One of his parents had just called him to break their lunch date for the holidays. He’s been suicidal and had acted on it, and was now in rehab.

My buddy was devastated. He was worried about his parent, but glad they were alive, and relieved they were in rehab and getting the help they had needed for a long time. His tears flowed and he choked up several times, getting his family woes off his chest.

I listened, and listened some more. I set aside my judgmental thoughts about the parent’s drug use and depression, and the impact that had on my friend. My friend wasn’t calling for advice; he was calling so I could listen to him, so he could put into words what he was going through. He needed to vent, and to cry on my shoulder. I zipped my lip, yet occasionally offered words of condolence, sympathy, and concern for my friend’s wellbeing.

I reminded him that he was a good man, a good son, and one of my friends. And, I listened some more. The torrent of tears slowed, and he became reflective of the ravages of addiction and estrangement that had plagued his family, and strained his relationship with his parent.

That’s all that he needed, and all that he wanted from me in this phone call. I listened, and withheld my judgement about the parent and their relationship with my friend. I told my friend I loved him, and that he loved his family, and that love for a person who hurts you can be painful and difficult to navigate, but loving others is what we are here to do in our lives.

An hour later, I heard a quote from Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor. “The purpose of our lives is to help others along the way.” She’d written that in a letter she had written, to be read at her funeral, her final words of wisdom to be shared with the nation.

At the end of the phone call, we told each other we loved each other, that it was good to talk, and good to share troubling news, and that sometimes, family life and the ravages of drugs and depression are tough to navigate.

My friend and I are here for each other, just a phone call away, when the tears overflow and life gets a little too challenging. Yesterday, I held space for my friend, and helped him on on his way. I know he’s there for me, too, when life gets too much to handle by myself, and I need someone to hold space for me.

12/20/23